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“The Hermit is an important tarot card with much to tell us, but he tends not to be so welcome around the bonfire.”
Thomm Quackenbush, Pagan Standard Times: Essays on the Craft“Yes. They are the words that finally turned me into the hermit I have now become. It was quite sudden. I saw them, and I knew what I had to do."The sign read:"Hold stick near center of its length. Moisten pointed end in mouth. Insert in tooth space, blunt end next to gum. Use gentle in-out motion.""It seemed to me," said Wonko the Sane, "that any civilization that had so far lost its head as to need to include a set of detailed instructions for use in a package of toothpicks, was no longer a civilization in which I could live and stay sane.”
Douglas Adams, So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish“Jade blinked. It was only for a fraction of a second but she could have sworn the the house had changed shape.”
Richard J. Ward, The Hermit and the Time Machine“It's quite simple, they poisoned it with smoke, chemicals and pollution from factories and cars, and power stations. Silly humans knew what they were doing, but carried on poisoning the planet anyway.”
Richard J. Ward, The Hermit and the Time Machine“Loneliness—since I was trying to escape it—was hell; and yet for the hermit who seeks it, it is apparently happiness.”
Kōbō Abe, The Face of Another“The hermit Anthony once told me that a monk is like a fish: take him out of his element and he dies. Silence is his element. In silence you can trade this shoddy world for Heaven.”
Gillian Bradshaw, The Beacon at Alexandria“…struck. Once. And into that blow he put his childhood, his grief, his loss. He put his mother’s sorrow and his sister’s longing. The menorah, weighed down with that, crushed the Hermit’s skull.”
Louise Penny, Bury Your Dead“For the wanderer astray, the hermit seeking the lost booksTo him the bitter path of knowledge is truly germaneAnd to gaze at the grand canvas of depravity, the deified crooksAll the depth of duplicity of the celestial rulers most profane.”
T. M. Lakomy“Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rude And fled to the silence of sweet solitude. Where the flower in green darkness buds, blossoms, and fades, Unseen of all shepherds and flower-loving maids— The hermit bees find them but once and away. There I'll bury alive and in silence decay.”
John Clare, Poems Chiefly from Manuscript